


Dancing with Tears in my Eyes

by Alargebee



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Break Up, Historical Hetalia, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Most of the characters are not prominent, Old Work, Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, Polish-Lithuanian War, World War II, based on Dancing with Tears in my Eyes by Kesha but doesn't really include any part of it, kind of dramatic but I was a kid so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25559080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alargebee/pseuds/Alargebee
Summary: When in America, Poland hears Polka and remembers his relationship with Lithuania, and how it fell apart.
Relationships: Lithuania/Poland (Hetalia)
Kudos: 19





	Dancing with Tears in my Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in 2015, after the death of my polish great aunt. I'm publishing it now because I'm trying to publish all of my old hetalia fanfiction. I was quite young when I wrote this, so there are definitely topics here which are not handled with the grace that I would address them with now, but I wanted to publish it as is. Just know that the views I reflect here don't reflect my own. The Polish and Lithuanian used here we done with google translate, so they're definitely not really accurate. Also, if you're in the hetalia fandom in 2020, please try to keep this a fun place. A lot of the toxic elements of the early hetalia fandom seem to be returning, and I hope that most of us are older and wiser in this scenario to keep this online space as the fun parts of hetalia, and not the gross parts. Thanks for reading!

Poland loved to dance.

Polka, particularly, but he loved to dance in general. Sure, Czech was the one who invented Polka, but she named it after her older brother because he helped her refine it. Before the war, Poland would sometimes go to hang out with her and dance for nearly ten minutes at a time, something remarkable for any human. And no matter what people told Czech about taking over her heritage, she always admitted Poland was better.

He hadn't really danced for years now.

During the First World War, he wasn't really involved. He was still part of Russia, but he was preparing himself. He had to get stronger so he could break free when the time came. He was, after all, the Phoenix of Europe, so he had to break free sometime, right?

At least then he had Lithuania for company. 

Czech spent most of her time with their brother Slovakia, so he didn't see much of her then. But he didn't mind. Even though their alliance had broken, he still had Lithuania with him at Russia's house. They were still friends then.

And then, the war ended.

Poland was free again, a new country on the map from which he had been erased for so long. Lithuania was there too, and they celebrated the end of the Great War together. It had been dangerous, but they had made it, and they had made it together. And Poland had been so happy he had literally danced for almost twenty five minutes- he had danced Polka for nearly twenty five minutes.

It nearly killed him, but it was worth it.

And then Russia got greedy.

He had never liked being alone, and Poland never understood why. He was perfectly fine being alone with his people, occasionally hanging out with Czech or Hungary, but for the most part, he liked being alone. He didn't know why. Maybe it was just part of his nature as an introvert, but being around lots of people tired him out.

Also, they made fun of him and beat him up.

Lithuania was different. From the second Poland met him, he seemed different from the rest. Sure, he'd seen him and heard about him before, but he never really understood what it meant to be real friends with anyone. Okay, that was a lie. He was friends with Italy too, but Italy drifted away. He made friends of his own. And Poland simply couldn't.

Lithuania didn't leave.

He was an introvert too, and he understood Poland. He let him open up to him completely- he was the first person to really break past Poland's defences, the defences that had saved him from complete destruction so many times. He let him roll around, tolerated his antics and let him be himself, something he had always wanted to express. He understood Poland. Maybe he got on Lithuania's nerves sometimes, but they were best friends, so it didn't matter.

Poland had never really known what it was like to be in love.

At first, he didn't realise it. He just loved waking up and running into Lithuania's room every morning, riding their horses, playing chess (he always lost) or staying up talking all night. He didn't realise his feelings for Lithuania had surpassed friendship. He never realised that his interest in Lithuania was no longer something akin to his interest in clothes- something he liked, but could live without frequenting every day. He felt the same way about Lithuania that he felt about his horses- taking to them, touching their hair and just generally being in their presence meant everything to him. 

He didn't realise that he loved Lithuania.

Love wasn't an easy subject for nations, really. Not that Poland had ever been exposed to love much. The closest examples to love he had were the marriages that Austria were often involved in, and Belarus's obsession with her brother (which everyone but Russia who was in the house knew was her form of revenge for everything Russia had done to her friends), so he never really knew what it was. So he didn't realise it until it was too late.

After the Great War, Lithuania was weak. He needed money, and Poland couldn't help him with that. Luckily, through Italy- and a will to oppose Russia in every way he could- he found a way for Lithuania to work with America for a while. It wouldn't be long, and after such a large war, nobody would want to fight anymore, right?

Wrong.

Back to Russia- he was still lonely, and still greedy, and he took advantage of Lithuania's financial weakness. He invaded Lithuania, for the purpose of creating a union of his old territories. And Poland reacted badly.

In a fit of panic, he sent his own army to help Lithuania's while the other nation hastily returned home. But it only took a matter of days. His army got greedy. His army decided to take advantage of Lithuania as well, against his will. Because even though Poland was a nation, there was only so much he could do to control his own people. 

And, to be honest, he wanted to save the city that he loved so much.

By the time Lithuania was back, Poland had seized Vilnius, and before Poland could explain, Russia yanked them apart.

Lithuania hadn't lost his spirit, however. He fought with Poland for almost a year, trying to hurt him for the betrayal. Poland tried to explain to him why he had done what he did, but on the inside, he knew there could have been other ways to save Lithuania. He could have done something else, but in blind panic, he had lost his friend.

That's when he realised he loved him.

It was a little late, because Poland was invaded by Germany- again, a victim of his people's greed. Above all, a nation has to be true to their people.

Even if it means throwing everything the care for away.

He was already weak from the battles with Russia, already weak from the Polish-Lithuanian war and just tired of having been beat down again and again. He didn't have the will to fight anymore.

He didn't have the will to live.

But he had to try. He had to be strong because he was the Phoenix of Europe, he was the one who rose from the ashes to live again every single time. Isn't that what his anthem was?

Jeszcze Polska nie zginęła,  
Kiedy my żyjemy.  
Co nam obca przemoc wzięła,  
Szablą odbierzemy.

Marsz, marsz, Dąbrowski,  
Z ziemi włoskiej do Polski.  
Za twoim przewodem  
Złączym się z narodem.  
Przejdziem Wisłę, przejdziem Wartę,  
Będziem Polakami.  
Dał nam przykład Bonaparte,  
Jak zwyciężać mamy.  
Marsz, marsz...  
Jak Czarniecki do Poznania  
Po szwedzkim zaborze,  
Dla ojczyzny ratowania  
Wrócim się przez morze.

Marsz, marsz...  
Już tam ojciec do swej Basi  
Mówi zapłakany —  
Słuchaj jeno, pono nasi  
Biją w tarabany.

Marsz, marsz...

Mazurek Dąbrowskiego.

Poland Is not yet lost.

But again, he panicked. Again, fear lead to madness and to weakness and he sent his horses up against the German tanks. He sent his army, weak from war, up against the Blitzkrieg. He frantically sent messengers to Lithuania, begging him to help, even if he could only send a single person. Begging him to remember who they had once been, how Lithuania had called for his aid at the start of the Soviet wars. 

Not a single one came back.

Lithuania had abandoned him.

Life was terrible. He was always having phantom pains- the kind counties get because of attack on their land- from Russia and Germany, sometimes so bad he had to lie on the ground, gasping, until he could stand again. And he wasn't right in the head either. He would wake up at night screaming for no reason at all. 

And he was mad. He was mad at Lithuania for leaving him, for turning his messengers back into the battles and sending them to their deaths. He was angry because his friend had abandoned him.

But more than angry and Lithuania, he was angry at himself. 

The other inhabitants of Germany's house didn't like him very much. Netherlands and Luxembourg kept to themselves, and although Belgium sometimes would give him a tired smile or engage him in polite small talk at meals, she mostly kept to her family. And as the war continued and more nations began to fall, they too left him alone. Because they were afraid of him, the little boy who had nightmares, who had lost to Germany first.

Who never smiled.

Now, during this time, Poland didn't dance. He couldn't bring himself to. And even when Czech and the others came to live there, they kept together with Yugoslavia, and didn't talk to him. To their credit, life wasn't very good. Denmark wasn't loud or annoying anymore, Greece walked past cats on the street without stopping to pet them. But still, Poland was heartbroken. He never really minded being alone with his people.

But this invading force was not his people.

He had lost all his spirit with the many that had fled the country. Those that remained were killed, or lived such a terrible life that they wish they were. Times were hard, and Poland retracted into himself. He hardly spoke. He stopped coming his hair.

He stopped eating.

To him, food had been such a big part of who he was. His food defined him and kept him separate from all the other cultures. But he couldn't eat any more. Because before the war, he ate socially. His idea of a good time was eating and talking with people he loved. But he couldn't do that anymore, because all food was tasteless. Even sauerkraut, which was plentiful in Germany, was hard to choke down.

He became an example. An example for the other countries in Europe that still opposed Germany. He was scrawny, weak, always in pain, with unkempt hair and blank eyes. He was always wrapped with bandages and covered with small scars and bruises. He was skeletal and skinny, even more so than he had been before. He wore a uniform every day, but it was loose on his frame and very untidy.

In the middle of the war, he heard that East Prussia- he had taken the name against his will- had begun it's invasion of Russia because of an issue with trade or something of the like. 

And something very peculiar happened.

He felt panic for the first time in a very long time.

Poland had shut out all emotion after a while, but after he had heard of the invasion, he was terrified. Germany was invading Russia. And the easiest path through Russia was through the Baltic States.

At first, he was content. Satisfied in a sick, twisted way. Now Lithuania would know what it was like, to be left alone when he was needed most. But then he felt terrible. Sick. He actually threw up once, in the middle of the night after he was awoken by a dream of the night they were separated. And he felt terrible all over again, remembering every flaw he had, everything he had done to make Lithuania's life miserable, however unintentionally. He remembered how he had been the one to shatter what they had.

He had hurt Lithuania.

The one person that he truly loved.

He later learned that Lithuania hadn't even been in his country when the invasion happened. He was with Belarus, in Russia's house.

She didn't break his fingers.

The war passed. 

VE and VJ Day came, and Poland was his own country again. But he didn't have the will to be much of anything anymore. He had his people back, and he was glad, yes, but they didn't understand. Okay, they'd suffered a lot, from being attacked, shot, and forced to flee their country. But they were mortal, and they didn't understand.

Not that Poland understood much better.

Lithuania showed no interest in being near him. Not at all. 

It hurt.

But strangely enough, he continued on. With his people back, he was strong again. He would smile at the little girl whom he knew but she never would, and join in singing Mazurek Dąbrowskiego in Warsaw. 

Some things changed.

Poland was quieter, and he didn't open up to anyone. He lost even more of his previous self when his new leader made him a satellite state for the Soviets. War changes people. He knew that.

But before, he'd always had Lithuania with him. 

He drank. That was something that Lithuania had primarily done, and it used to get on his nerves so much. But Italy was so upset about Mussolini's dictatorship, he brought a few bottles of wine up. And Poland drank.

He hated hangovers before, and always fussed over Lithuania when he got them.

And he began to learn Lithuanian.

Before, he hadn't known much. Polish was the prevalent language in the commonwealth, and learning Russian was hard enough. Of course, he knew the basics, so he could eavesdrop on Lithuania and try to practice it (his case endings were absolutely horrific and Lithuania let him know it). But now?

He was so desperate to get Lithuania to just talk with him that he would learn the precious language by heart if he had to.

The day came, though not the way Poland would have expected it. He was in Kraków when he turned a corner and saw him, carrying a bag of groceries. Lithuania dropped it in surprise. 

They both stood there, staring at each other, unsure of what to say or do.

And then Lithuania tried to run.

He left the bag and took off running in the opposite direction, moving to the square filled with people. Poland hesitated a second and chased after him.

The battering from the war had taken it's toll on him, but he was still faster.

He caught Lithuania's wrist and turned him around, but he was determined not to speak to Poland. He fought to get free, but Poland remembered Lithuania's weaknesses from the times they would spar for fun and practice. He kicked Lithuania right below his ribs, and he fell his knees, gasping.

Poland crouched next to him to try to help him, but Lithuania gave him a smouldering glare and continued to try to regain his breath.

"So." He muttered coldly when he could speak again. "Why are you here?"

"It's Kraków. I live here."

Lithuania's jaw muscles stiffened.

"No you don't. Not anymore."

"Yeah. Not since the Commonwealth."

Lithuania was suddenly on his feet, holding Poland to the wall by his wrists. He hadn't forgotten Poland's weaknesses either.

"Don't. You. Dare. I don't ever want to hear you speak of that again like we are friends."

Poland just about died there, but he had a lot of practice keeping things internal.

Lithuania let go of Poland, gingerly dropping his wrists, holding on to them as long as he could. Then, he shook himself.

"I have to go, I'm meeting Belarus back at the car in a few minutes. Viso gero, Lenkija."

He turned on his heel and began to walk away, his hands balled into fists and his arms shaking. Poland felt his eyes sting, emotions he had buried for so long surfacing again.

"P-palaukti, Liet!"

Lithuania froze. He turned around slowly, and Poland could see he was crying. He hastily wiped his nose on his sleeve and looked at Poland the way he had looked at Prussia during the Swedish invasion.

"You have taken everything from me. You pretended we were friends and you turned your back on me when I needed you the most. So please, don't take my language as well, Po." He spat the old nickname out with what appeared to be anger, but wasn't communicated well because of his tears.

"I didn't want to take Vilnius! My army disobeyed my orders and you wouldn't even give me a chance to talk!" Poland wasn't a pretty crier, he never had been. His nose was stuffing up and he knew it was going to get ugly. 

"Why should've I? You're so selfish, I knew what you were going to say. It's all about you, I, I, I! I can't take it! I need my independence! I can't drag you around anymore!"

"Well, maybe I am selfish!" Poland said, his voice rising in pitch until he was almost screaming. "But you didn't care back then, when we were lumped together for political gain! You didn't care! You were happy just being my friend, Liet! Why did that have to change?!"

"Because you used me! You were friendly, made me trust you, and then, when I thought that you were helping me after the war, you turned around and took the city!"

"It's because I miss you, Liet! I miss you! I miss the things we used to do! I miss fencing with Grunwald swords, I still have mine under the floorboards in your room in Warsaw! All your letters are still there, I haven't touched them! I miss rinding horses with you, I miss styling your hair. I miss being out in the wheat fields all night, wondering about the future. Aš tave myliu, Liet. I don't know how else to say it. I love you, and I couldn't let that city get taken by Russia while you were away."

Lithuania started full on sobbing. He gave Poland one last remorseful look, and took off in the opposite direction. Poland reached out to stop him, but he was gone. 

It hurt.

And that's how Poland got to America.

A family in Kraków was moving there, migrants from Europe. Poland had never met America personally, but he was a bit excited to see the country that Lithuania had lived in.

He wanted to see why Lithuania had never given him the letters he found with his sword.

But that's where he heard the music. 

It was a song he had often heard with Czech, a song they had both loved to dance to. And he felt drawn to it, because honestly he felt so lost. The beats were familiar.  
It was a small street band, just a few people he recognised (he knew all of his people's names). He couldn't help but tap his foot, because this was his music, this is what he had refined with Czech so many years ago.

Poland loved to dance.

One of the musicians saw him and smiled a toothy grin. "Zatańczyć!" He yelled above the music.

And so he did.

Poland began slowly, seeing as he hadn't danced for so long, but soon the music took ahold of him and the half steps he had worked on began to come back to him- onetwothreefouronetwothreefour- and he was spinning around, dancing like he hadn't for years.

And then, he remembered Lithuania's face.

He remembered Lithuania's face at the end of the Great War, he remembered Lithuania laughing and trying to keep up with him as he danced, but tripping over his own feet because he was far too tall and lanky. He remembered sweeping Lithuania in and guiding him through it, and Lithuania stepping on his toes at first but gradually falling into the time of the music.

He remembered his laugh, the one he hadn't heard in so long.

He remembered Lithuania's face when he told him about finding the undelivered love letters under the floorboards.

And he began to cry again, moving his feet with more intensity then before. He blinked the tears away and he danced, moving his way through the song. And about halfway through, he began to guide an invisible Lithuania through the music, just like he had back then.

The Lithuania who had written those letters in shaky polish.

The Lithuania who had written "Kocham cię"


End file.
